Sofia Ockhuis

Sofia Ockhuis says she is not a sop (soup) Sophia, but a Sofia. She was born on Heuningvlei, where she is known as Ounooi because as a baby she looked similar to an ounooi (older lady) at Pakhuis. She turned 78 years old soon after the interview.

Sofia Ockhuis reminisces about her childhood days, the jokes children played on one another and the values she was taught. She tells a story of her father’s stepmother, who disappeared and lived with baboons in the mountain.

Sofia Wilhelemina Ockhuis tells us there are two different ways to spell her name: “Sophia” and “Sofia”. But she is not a “sop Sophia” (“soup Sophia”). She is known as Ounooi on Heuningvlei. When one of her grandmothers came to meet her as a baby, the grandmother said she looked like one of the ounoois (older ladies) at Pakhuis and so she became known as Ounooi. They did not have a lavish childhood, but always had food on the table – even if it was only a slice of bread. She was taught manners and to appreciate all that was given to her and done for her. This year, 2018, she will turn 78. She finished school up to standard 5, but was told by a teacher to continue because she is clever. Her parents said they could not afford it, and Sofia said she would miss home too much. Now she regrets not finishing school. She has been divorced for 30 years and has seven children. Three have passed away, and four live in Cape Town.

Sofia was taught to work from an early age and then took care of sickly family members. They were nine children – four boys and five girls. Only she and her 83-year-old sister survive. She says that she has never been without food to eat or friends to laugh with, and she is happy on Heuningvlei. Her mother taught her to be frugal, and she tells of the jokes they played on each other in good spirits.

Sofia tells of her father’s stepmother, who became senile with old age and left home. She was lost for eight days, and when they found her she said she lived with the baboons. She passed away three days later.

I was baptised SofiaWilhelmina Ockhuis, but Sofia is written in two different ways. The one is S-o-p-h-i-a, but my name is S-o-f-i-a. Now, I always joke and say I am not a soup-Sofia, but as my parents told me, or my ma, when I was a small baby one of the grandmas here came to look at me when I was born and she said, “Look, this klimmeid’s* eyes look just like those of Ounooi* behind here at Pakhuis.” And then they gave me the pet name Ounooi. When someone comes here to Heuningvlei looking for Sofia Ockhuis, they don’t really know who that is, but if they ask for Ounooi, they know.

But as my parents told me this, we didn’t grow up in luxury. Simple, poor, but we had something to eat every day, even if it was only a piece of bread. And most beautiful of all, we were educated in the home. We had to learn manners, know our manners, for our future lives. We had to know “please” and “thank you” – and that is how we grew up, our parents – and to greet people, not walk past them. To greet them, and then, as I’ve already said, if you ask something, “please”, and if you get it, say “thank you”. And appreciate everything that is done.

So I just, I’m now, I’ll soon be 78, yes, but I haven’t been anywhere, I’ve stayed here in Heuningvlei. Went to school, learnt up to Standard 5 at the time, Grade 7 today, if I’m not mistaken. Learnt up to Standard 5. According to my teacher, the principal, Mister Noag (?? 03:11), he is now deceased, I was quite clever. It isn’t me that is saying this, he said it. And he really wanted my parents to let me study further, because I had potential. But they said there wasn’t any money. And I myself didn’t want to go, because I would have been too homesick. Today I regret being so stupid at the time.

But now I live in Heuningvlei. Sorry to say, I was married but presently I’m divorced, for thirty years now. And I have four children. Three are deceased, and four are alive, my son and three daughters. They all live in the Cape, and they work there, but they do provide for me. But I enjoy the rural lifestyle in Heuningvlei. And I believe in this: When I walk out my door, I don’t want to lower my head, I want to lift my head and see who I can see and greet them with a smile. That is my way, because I feel, I live alone, I cannot live in discord with people. Tonight when you fall ill, then I have to be able to pick up my telephone and phone someone to come and help me. This is how I want to live my life, but I also pray to God that He helps me with this. That is so.

I have, I can’t say I’ve done nothing in Heuningvlei. I’ve done all kinds of chores, and when I was a young woman I also worked for two teachers who were teaching here. And that time we [laughs], we paid but twelve shillings, R1,20 a month. But I gave it into the hands of my ma, just like that, and I have to say, they, actually, also taught me a lot. To work and that is why today I know very well how to do things, to do things neatly, and to do them correctly.

That was my life, and after that I had to… care for many old people who were on their sickbeds. My pa, my ma, my mother-in-law, my uncle and my sister, my eldest sister. I’m now speaking of those who have already died. And today I’m again looking after my other sister. Working for her. We were nine children, four boys and five daughters. And of these nine children only myself and this sister are left. She is now 83, turning 83. So that was my life in Heuningvlei, but I cannot say that I was ever without a piece of bread in this simple and poor house. The Lord has blessed me. Every time. Have many friends, and we chat and we teach one another and we laugh. Make jokes and we laugh. That’s how I’m making my life here now.

And I have to say, or, I’m able to say, I’m very happy. All in all. Carry on speaking?

Your father and them told you stories and so on, didn’t they? Can you still remember some of these stories? Like ghost stories?

Yes. The thing I want to start with is…we were never allowed to eat before my pa had said grace. And his prayer was, “Lord, bless this lovely food, amen.” It was still in the Dutch language. And he also taught us to say a prayer before going to sleep. When you’ve finished your prayer, you have to say goodnight to everyone in the house, and tomorrow morning when we get up, we say good morning to everyone. And the prayer that Pa taught us was, “When I go to sleep and wake up refreshed, a prayer of thanks is the first task.” That was the prayer.

The stories they told me, I cannot remember them so well now, but he once told me that he had to go and work in Wupperthal on the buildings, he worked on the buildings. And that small piece of bread that was in the house had to be shared, between us at home and him there at Wupperthal, so that he also had some. And then he told me, there where he slept, in Wupperthal, the next morning when he had to go to work, he felt that his shoes were pinching him that morning, the shoes were too small. But he set off anyway, all the time feeling “these are probably not my shoes, because they pinch me and they always fitted me”. And while he was busy working, the shoes just kept on bothering him. And when he looked at the shoes again later on, he saw that he was wearing the left shoe on the right foot, the right foot, the right shoe on the left foot, and that is why the shoes were pinching him so much.

And, I can’t remember everything any more, but that’s how it was, and it was very funny, we laughed a lot and, what did my ma tell us? How come I can’t remember the stories any more, I am old now, of course, and…

But my ma… [laughs] … was very precise about the work that we did and when we did something, we had to do it correctly. We had to take the bundle of washing and go wash it in the furrow. You were not allowed to rub it with a lot of soap. And my ma came and sat watching us wash, and when I rubbed in the soap, she told me, “Stop, that’s enough.” So then I rubbed in a little more soap and then she scooped up the water and splashed me sopping wet.

And, but that is how she taught us to do everything frugally. Because there wasn’t always money to buy whatever we wanted. And, oh, I had the story in my head just now, but now it’s gone again. Ehh, it’s…

…

Then… [laughs] … let me quickly tell you this. In those days, I was already married, we had a joke. First of April, we played April Fools. And my ma said to me, “Go and tell the auntie here in front, that auntie on the corner, Auntie Marie, call her and tell her to bring a jug with her.”

And it was April Fools. I went, I told the auntie, “That auntie says you must go there and you must bring a jug with you.”

And, “Oh, she probably wants to give me a bit of flour, or something,” the auntie says. And off she goes with the jug.

That is what my ma did – I had to do the work, she said what I had to do. And she came and sat with the auntie, Auntie Marie, and sat and sat. It was quiet, she didn’t say anything, Auntie Marie.

Then the other auntie later on asks, “But you called me and said I had to bring a jug.”

“Who told you that?” the auntie asks.

Then the auntie says to Auntie Marie, “Ounooi told me.”

Then she says, “(inaudible 11:38) Ounooi. Those are jokes, I didn’t call you, I didn’t say that you had to bring a jug with you.”

But those things made no one angry, we all laughed about it because it was April Fools.

Ehh, what should I still [tell you] about Ma…?

Let me just quickly (inaudible 11:58) [gets up to get something]

Sorry.

It’s okay.

…

[returns and mumbles] … the story of my ma…

Did they maybe tell you about a man called Dirk Ligter?

No. I don’t know about that. Something that I can tell you now and which I experienced myself: I was still young and, my pa’s ma was deceased, had died, and there was only one daughter amongst them, Cecile (??12:48), and they were all still young and she didn’t have motherly love and the mother inside her. And my grandpa decided to marry again so that this Anna mother can look after the children. And she looked after them well, but of course she grew old and then the grandpa died, Grandpa Isak. Then she remained with the children and the children grew up and married and her mind diminished a bit. And what she had in her head, she just wanted to wander. We had to keep an eye on her, because she climbed the high cliffs, here at Heuningvlei she stood on a high cliff so that we had to run to save her there. Up there.

And one day no one knew where she was, she was just gone. No one knew in which direction she had walked. And the daughters were sad, the children were sad and they started tracking her. And up there, as one gets to the footpath, up on (inaudible 14:02), they found her tracks and where the sandy path ended, ended, they couldn’t find her tracks again. She was gone and gone, and there in my pa’s house the family gathered at night, prayed, sang and prayed that the Lord would bring her back, dead or alive. Eight days passed. She didn’t have any food with her, nothing. Then one day a grandpa came from Clanwilliam, we called him Grandpa Segua (??14:39). And he came walking through the mountain, up Krakadouw. And when he got there, this grandma was sitting there on a rock. Alone. Alive, after eight days. Without food. He walked here quickly and told my pa and them about the grandma sitting there. And the family immediately went over the rocks to go and get her. And they carried her on their backs, piggybacked her, as we (inaudible 15:14) to here.

And my pa asked her, “Ma, what did Ma live on? Ma had no food with Ma. Where did Ma sleep?”

Then she said to my pa,“I lived with the baboons, and they, I ate with them and I slept with them and they didn’t bother me. I was doing nicely.”

It was such a wonderful miracle that one could almost not believe it. They gave her food that evening and put her to bed because she was weak. And after that she only lived three days. Then she died. That is everything that happened that I can remember, that my pa and them experienced. And so.